


Love You More (Universe Outtakes)

by crazyparakiss



Series: Love and Regret [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Brief Scorpius/Pansy, F/M, Family Drama, Family Feels, M/M, Outtakes of a larger story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-02-28 08:26:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13267551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyparakiss/pseuds/crazyparakiss
Summary: Being family isn't always easy; Scorpius and Albus come from families that prove love can't save everything. Though both still hope that love can save them all.





	1. Scorpius (Pre-Orion)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unadulteratedstorycollector](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unadulteratedstorycollector/gifts).



> Since I was doing a Christmas Challenge for friends/random people of the internet who inspire me, I asked one of my best friends what she wanted. And, well, she loves the Scorbus universe and wanted to know all about all of them. So this is going to be a multi-chaptered work of all the characters, or most, and what kind of makes them, well, them in this universe. It's not going to focus on the pairing that is Scorpius and Albus, because that's the main story elsewhere but it is bits of the headcanon I've got in my mind as I write this, the headcanon my darling friend keeps flailing about so I thought—let's give her a story. 
> 
> Happy everything, always, K, you are a gem that shines brightly and I adore you to pieces. <33333333333

 

“You’ll be home without me, for about a week,” Draco informs Scorpius while they are taking a meal at  _ Pur _ , Draco’s favourite restaurant in Paris. It’s one of the posh establishments Scorpius has entered since before he can remember, but he still has a sense of discomfort as he fiddles with one of his many forks. Draco gives him a disapproving glance, causing Scorpius to quit and sit up straighter in his seat. 

 

“Business,” Scorpius replies with a bored, enquiring tone. Failing to notice that his father is wearing a troubled frown. “I’ll be fine, Dad, go on—do what you do.” 

 

“What do I do,” Draco asks with a wry quirk of his brow. 

 

Scorpius grins, his reply full of cheek, “Take over the world, of course.” 

 

Draco snorts in a derisive manner, but he still has a charmed glean to his grey eyes. “One day, Scorpius,” Draco begins in an overly posh tone—the one Scorpius will inherit when his voice quits changing, no doubt. “One day, you won’t be a cute thirteen-year-old child.” 

 

“I think you said the same thing last year, Father.” Scorpius only refers to Draco as such when he’s being extremely bratty. “And, I think, I can recall you saying it the year before that.” His grin grows impish, “I dare say, Father mine, you will call me a cute child even when I’m fifty.” 

 

“We will see,” Draco is all poise. Giving nothing of his innermost thoughts away. “Now, come. I would like to your help in selecting your grandmother’s gift.” 

 

Scorpius hates shopping with his dad, and huffs in disappointment, “Why? Dad, you always buy Nan the same old perfume and expensive chocolates.”

 

“I can’t very well put your name on the gifts when you didn’t help select them.” Scorpius narrows his eyes, but Draco seems to realise he’s won the argument because he grins like a cat that caught the canary.  _ Git _ , Scorpius thinks and his Dad’s grin grows dangerous, as if he can hear the thought. 

 

“I’ll only come if I get to pick her out a gift of my choosing.” 

 

“I’m not buying your grandmother a goat, Scorpius.” 

 

“It’d be a great replacement for that goat she married,” Scorpius tries to reason. His father doesn’t cover his laugh, and Scorpius cackles as he hurries to walk beside his father through the cobbled streets of Wizarding Paris. 

 

*

 

Teddy is left in charge of Scorpius—in name only, because Draco’s not an idiot. Scorpius is the one who will most certainly put a stop to any possibly illegal shenanigans. Even if he’s a bit of an irresponsible dreamer, Teddy’s Scorpius’s favourite human besides his Dad. When he steps out of the Floo, with a large duffle Scorpius charges at him with a hug. His pride be damned. 

 

“Missed me, have you, Pious?” Teddy’s all warm, brotherly affection as he ruffles Scorpius’s blond hair, with long, heavily tattooed fingers. 

 

“Yeah,” he admits, but he tries to keep his wistfulness from bleeding into his tone. School is hell for the only son of Draco Malfoy. They all treat him like he’s some sort of malady they will catch if he’s too close. And those are the people who are kind. The worse ones are the ones who shove him, call his Nan a whore, and steal his homework. 

 

“Well, we’re going to spend a whole week eating crap food and watching the Live. Maybe we’ll go play in Muggle London.” This he says loud enough for Draco to catch. 

 

“Only if you aren’t taking him any place dodgy or south of the river,” Draco warns. 

 

“No place fun then,” Teddy hangs his head in mock dejection, but Scorpius catches a hint of his sharp-toothed grin. “Draco, you always manage to take away all our fun.” 

 

Draco doesn’t respond, instead, he moves closer to draw Scorpius into a fierce hug. “You be good, stay safe, and if you need me you ring me at the Mirror.” 

 

“I will,” Scorpius promises. “Love you, Dad.”    
  


“I love you more,” Draco responds with the paternal voice that comes when they are away from the constant pry of outside eyes. He brushes a brief kiss to Scorpius’s hair. Then when he moves away and catches sight of Teddy watching them, Draco adds, “Love you, too, Teddy. Do you want a kiss?” 

 

“If you tell anyone you kissed me on the hair, I’ll hex you,” Teddy replies with feeling, but Draco pulls him into a hug anyway and makes a show of planting a kiss on his teal hair. 

 

“Now I’ve got blackmail fodder—don’t do anything with my son I wouldn’t approve of.” Grey eyes narrow at Teddy, who frowns in response. 

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Teddy waves him off. “I’m not as stupid as I look.” 

 

Draco’s smile is soft, full of fatherly affection, “I know, if you were I wouldn’t leave you in charge of my life.” 

 

*

 

It goes great until Lucius shows up with Nan to check on them. “The Muddied Half-Breed is here, Narcissa,” he sniffs when he comes into the room where Teddy and Scorpius are watching a Quidditch match on the Live. A bowl of crisps between them on the ornate rug Draco constantly warns them not to ruin. 

 

Teddy, ever calm in the face of Lucius’s ignorance, grins up at the infuriating old man, “Lovely to see you, too, Uncle Lucy.” He scratches his shaven chin with his tattooed middle finger, subtly—yet not—giving Lucius a not so polite gesture. 

 

The face Lucius wears in response makes him appear as if he’s sucked down a whole lemon. Nan, bless her, doesn’t give him an ounce of pity, “If you’re going to harass the children, go to your old study and read. I’m sure Draco’s mountains of business ledgers will hold faults in your eyes.” She waves him out of the room, giving all her attentions to Teddy and Scorpius. Doting on them both with copious amounts of affection, Nan pulls out boxes of fine chocolates and ignores Lucius until he stomps out in a huff. 

 

It’s funny to Scorpius to watch an old man skulk away. Nan pats Teddy’s head in silent apology for her berk husband, and Teddy gives her a soft look of appreciation. 

 

Nan plays Wizards Chess with them both for hours, until Lucius comes back into the room, wearing a foreboding smile. Scorpius doesn’t like the dread that follows him into this space, it’s as if Lucius is a darkness that sucks away joy. A human Dementor.  “Your son is missing Christmas with family—for a whore.” There it is, something to steal their happiness. 

 

Scorpius feels ice plummet into his stomach at those words. Teddy sits up, wand out, wearing a snarl on his face, “I accept that you’re a twatter to me—I get it, but how fucking dare you come in here and upset a child like this.” The hex that hits Lucius doesn’t come from Teddy’s wand, it comes from Nan’s. Hitting him square between the eyes. 

 

“Do not dirty my son’s name with your filthy tongue,” there’s a fury Scorpius has never seen before in her. The snarl is more frightening than Teddy’s and Scorpius stumbles back, into his cousin—who wraps his arms around Scorpius in a physical hold of protection. 

Nan hurls more curses, beating Lucius down in a way Scorpius has often wanted—now he finds it worrisome. 

 

Still, he never tells her to stop. 

 

At dinner, Lucius’s pride is wounded so he’s hitting the bottle hard. “Your father is betraying your mother’s soul. Touching another as he does.” Scorpius tries to ignore him the way Nan and Teddy do, but he’s unable when Lucius says, “That’s why she died, Draco didn’t deserve her.” 

 

“My Mother who you called a weak, insipid woman—now you act like you care for her because my father is lonely and misses her enough to seek the comfort of a paid mistress.” Scorpius’s whole body trembles when he spits, “Fuck off, you miserable tosser. Don’t put my mother’s name in your mouth with the intent of soiling my father. You are not worthy of either of their names.” 

 

Teddy and Nan have proud grins resting on their faces when Scorpius flops back into his seat. Exhausted from his rage. 

 

*

 

Still Scorpius resents Draco for betraying the memory of his mother. He can see the glow in Draco, when he looks for it, after he’s returned from Paris. The glow Teddy has when he spends nights fucking willing, eager partners. After the holiday, after Scorpius returns to school he seeks anything to keep his mind from his Father’s deeds. There’s an advert in the common room, offering summer work to the musically inclined. Scorpius doesn’t care for the details as he tears off a strip with the Floo address. 

 

The Conservatoire is as grand as he remembers, his mother had brought him to learn musics before he could comprehend speech. It’s an elitist society, where all good little rich masters and mistresses go—to boast that they are gifted in the arts.

 

Scorpius doesn’t really care; music is a distraction that’s kept him sane thus far. And he hopes it will continue to as he follows one of the summer instructors into one of the many music rooms. “You’ll be in charge of Lysander today. He’s a rowdy child, so if you cannot get him to concentrate we understand.” 

 

_ Joy.  _ “I’ll do what I can.”

 

Lysander is a cherub of a child with a halo of hair as yellow as daffodils. His blue eyes are mischief and his grin is that of an imp—Scorpius is not charmed in the slightest as he takes his seat on the piano bench beside the boy. 

 

“You have to sit still,” Scorpius sighs after fifteen minutes of this child fidgeting beside him. 

 

“Why, you get paid either way,” Lysander quips smartly. 

 

Scorpius scowls, “I’m not here for the money.” Because he’s not. Scorpius could spend his whole life not working, blowing money, and still be rich. The well of wealth runs deep for his family. 

 

“Everyone, everywhere, is here for the money,” is Lysander’s annoyingly perceptive response. 

 

“I’m not, I’ve got more than I know what to do with,” Scorpius admits. “I’m here—with you—because I love music.” He looks at Lysander’s small, heart-shaped face, “Music is the best distraction.” 

 

“Mummy and Daddy don’t have time for me,” Lysander admits, eyes cast down, and Scorpius wonders if that’s why this kid acts up. Perhaps his annoying behaviour is to get someone to notice him. Whatever, not Scorpius’s problem. He’s got his own shit to deal with, after all.  

 

“Fuck ‘em,” Scorpius whispers. “Who needs them when you have music?” 

 

Lysander minds after that. 

 

*

 

Scorpius starts noticing the patterns of Draco missing. Every few months he leaves for an extended meeting in France, returning with that glow and fewer creases in his brow. He is conflicted. On one hand, he wants his father to be happy, but on the other, he remembers that bonds are deep—sacred—Draco is betraying his by being in the arms of another. It hurts Scorpius to think his mother’s soul might be suffering for his father’s actions. It calls into question so many wonderings about bonds—none that he will ever speak. So Scorpius remains wretched in silence. Burying his head in the sand as best as he can. 

 

“Can I work at Hell Gate with you,” Scorpius asks his summer after Third Year. Teddy glances up from a ledger, full of sloppy writing, with a frown. 

 

“Mate, I serve alcohol, do you know how fast Harry would shut me down?” He gives a grimace at the thought, “Harry’s already not fond of me  _ pissing my life away _ .” 

 

Scorpius shrugs, “My dad thinks you’re wasted in a pub.” 

 

“Yeah, well, I don’t feel like being a damn uni student.” Teddy lights his cigarette, taking a deep draw of it before he exhales smokey words in Scorpius’s direction. “Just because I was Head Boy doesn’t mean I enjoy seeking more from magic and the world.” 

 

“I need something to do,” Scorpius sighs. Pressing his forehead into his hands, “I need somewhere loud, somewhere no one is looking at me too closely.” 

 

Teddy’s eyes are full of emotion, understanding, and he hesitates before he finally tells Scorpius, “Aberforth isn’t afraid of Harry, and damn sure isn’t afraid of your dad—he won’t pay you well, but he’s always willing to take on able-bodied youngsters.” 

 

*

 

“Boy,” Aberforth barks. “Ale, fetch it from the storage room.” Scorpius hurries down the rickety steps to the room beneath the Hogshead to drag up a heavy barrel of ale. Aberforth—the slave driver—refuses to let him use magic. Which is fine because he can focus on the ache in his muscles rather than be left alone to the musings of his mind. 

 

“Wipe down the glasses,” he grumbles and Scorpius does with little complaint. Aberforth keeps him so busy with menial, mind-numbing tasks he can’t think to complain. 

 

At the end of each day, Aberforth puts three silver coins into Scorpius’s palm, murmuring, “Don’t spend it all in one place, boy.”

 

All of it winds up in a coin jar beneath Scorpius’s bed. He’s got a key to a bigger pile of gold, and doesn’t actually need the money but Aberforth refuses to allow him to work for free. 

 

*

 

When term begins so do the rumours about Scorpius putting his arse up for old man Dumbledore. He ignores the bulk of it, biting down scathing retorts such as  _ Aberforth is the one who fucks goats, it’s the dead one that fucked blokes.  _ Trying to defend his work would exacerbate the rumours, and he’s never been stupid enough to dump fuel on a fire. 

 

The words only sting when Albus Potter’s green eyes fall over him with a cloud of doubt. That’s when Scorpius knows shame—even if he’s never done a thing that is shameful. 

 

Givens, a bloke in Gryffindor—one of that berk Potter’s mates, has another couple of boys hold Scorpius down while Givens works Scorpius over with his fists. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as Albus’s gaze had when he’d watched Scorpius with pity the night before. 

 

At the weekend, when Scorpius sneaks out through the tunnel behind the one-eyed witch that Teddy told him about, he goes to Aberforth’s place. It’s the first time Aberforth shows concern for Scorpius, grabbing him gently by the chin and turning his face at all angles to better inspect the damage. 

 

“I never liked your grandfather, but the man has his pride.” He releases Scorpius, with a stern expression drawing his bushy eyebrows down, “Borrow that pride, don’t let them look down on you as much as they do. You’re better than you think.”  With a tisk Aberforth turns, “I’d dare call you good.” He doesn’t cry, but his throat grows tight and his eyes sting from those words. 

 

After that Aberforth teaches him how to mix drinks, and starts letting him tend the bar. Rather than sticking all the grunt work on Scorpius. 

 

*

 

The summer after Fourth Year is when Scorpius, in an effort to avoid his life, holds down three jobs. He teaches brats at the conservatoire in the mornings, works for Aberforth in the evenings— most days well into the morning—and between he brews potions for his dad’s apothecary. His gruelling schedule has him falling into dreamlessness when he gets the chance to sleep, and that’s exactly how Scorpius like it. 

 

“You ever thought about fucking around,” Teddy suggests on one of the rare afternoons Scorpius has off. The bags under his eyes caused Aberforth to bark at him that he needed a day of rest. Not that Scorpius stays home. 

 

“What do you mean?” Scorpius glances up from his summer homework, puzzled. 

 

“You know, get off with someone, drink, dabble in recreational potions,” Teddy appears exasperated. “Have some fun for once.” Teddy rarely tries to entice Scorpius with things that Draco would not approve of—not for fear of Draco, but because Scorpius is his brother and he likes to keep him safe. He must be terribly pitiful if Teddy’s trying to jog him out of that funk. 

 

“Fun is overrated,” Scorpius mutters, correcting his spelling of one of the great wizards of the dark ages’ names. Teddy’s the one who points it out to him with a smug grin, Scorpius gives him two fingers as he makes the changes. Fucking smart, useless wanker. 

 

“All work and no play makes Pious a dull boy,” Teddy quips, but Scorpius doesn’t understand the reference and Teddy huffs. “I’m getting you laid. You’re fifteen, going on to sixteen in October, you need your cock played with.” Teddy makes it sound like this is some rite of passage that’s required during this age. Scorpius doesn’t agree. 

 

“I play with it twice a day,” Scorpius snarks in return, but Teddy pays him no mind as he starts going through a little black book he’s got behind the bar. 

 

He’s writing small notes that he’ll send out with Minute Owls while Scorpius frowns at nothing. Scorpius is fifteen, he’d love nothing more than to get off with another person. It just seems pointless when the only person he wants to get off with hasn’t got a fucking clue as to who he is. 

 

*

 

The parties are all right, there’s a lot of booze, potions, and spliff. There are also plenty of willing bodies, but Scorpius doesn’t find a single one appealing. He’s a bit drunk when he wanders out into the back garden. The moon is over bright, casting an eerie glow over everything. Scorpius flops heavily onto a stone bench, staring up at it with a frown. He wants nothing more than to be at home, in his bed, reading up on how to get his Felix Felicis just right. 

 

“You seem weary,” a voice calls—soft, yet full of intention. 

 

“I am, I’m too old and too young.” Scorpius moves his gaze in the direction of the voice. “Being both at once makes me tired.” She stands there, the image of a fable come to life. One Scorpius can remember whispered in reverence. 

 

“Perhaps I can help,” her voice is pitched low, sultry, as she extends a hand to him. Scorpius takes it, knowing the intention in the gesture. For a brief moment he thinks of Albus, of his father, and finally of his mother. He too will live to disappoint her, it seems. 

 

The flat is warm, inviting if overly ornate in an attempt to seem posh, but he doesn’t worry about that when soft lips press to his own. She tastes wrong and right at once, cinnamon liquor on her tongue along with the ash of her cigarette. Scorpius doesn’t have time to pay it much mind as she slips the shirt off his shoulders, exposing his skin to the room. Her sharp red nails run along his pale flesh, pulling a shiver from him, “What do you wish?” 

 

With honesty, Scorpius rests his gaze on her beautiful face and whispers, “I wish that you were someone else.” 

 

A chuckle bubbles in her throat, “You are just like your father.” Then she falls, with grace, to her knees. 

 

Scorpius closes his eyes, winds his fingers in her hair, and pretends it’s a different mouth wrapping around his cock.

 

*

 

“So,” Teddy begins when Scorpius shows up the next morning. “How was Miss Parkinson?” 

 

“Too talkative,” Scorpius admits. “She’s got a thing for comparing me to my dad.” Which was unsettling, so Scorpius had to tune her out most of the time. 

 

Teddy’s grin is wolffish, “Yeah, that’s why she chases us, mate, she’s looking for the one she wants the most.” It’s weird to know he’s shared the same woman as his father and near brother. The same woman who had them all first. 

 

Scorpius grows quiet, messing about with things on Teddy’s small flat’s kitchen counter. “Why doesn’t my father fuck her, then, why does he soil my mother by touching a whore?”

 

“He’d only soil her if he touched another who loved him. Your dad knows your mother would forgive all others, but she would ache if he returned to his childhood sweetheart.” Teddy hands Scorpius a cigarette. “Besides, your father isn’t a cruel man—despite what some believe. He never loved Pansy, and he wouldn’t hurt her by giving her false affection to sate his own desires.” 

 

Scorpius wonders as he puts his cigarette to his lips. Wonders if he’s a shit for letting her touch a piece of his father. If he’s wronged his mother by giving his virginity to the woman who first had his father. He puts the worry away, focusing on his book to ignore the guilt that suddenly bubbles within him. For his mother, for Pansy, and a bit for himself.  

 

*

 

Draco comes into the apothecary a week before Scorpius is due back for Sixth Year, and has an unusual expression on his face. “I’m proud of you,” he tells Scorpius. Out of the blue. Causing Scorpius to lift his eyes in confusion, from the potion he’s bottling for sale. 

 

“Why?” He half demands. 

 

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Draco uses a question by way of reply and a lump forms in Scorpius’s throat. He swallows it down, and manages to shrug by way of thanks. Draco smiles, sincere and full of love, as he pats him on the shoulder. That’s when he thinks it’s about time he starts forgiving his father. 

 

*

 

“My dad told me he was proud of me,” Scorpius tells Teddy as they split a spliff. It’s three, and the drunks have been packed off for the night. The floors of Hell Gate are littered with garbage and sticky puddles of stale piss. Teddy doesn’t pay the mess any mind, he just takes a deep draw and holds his smoke while he thinks of something to say in reply. 

 

“Of course he’s proud of you,” his response comes with an exhale of a pungent cloud. “You’re pretty great.” 

 

“He should be prouder of you,” Scorpius responds. “You’ve actually made something of your life.” 

 

Teddy’s laugh is hollow, “That’s why they all look at me with disappointment. Gran, Harry, everyone—I was supposed to be the one who made up for two deaths.” Teddy gestures at the room around them. “Tell me how this makes up for any magnitude of loss.” Scorpius doesn’t know what to say. Teddy grins, shaking his head, “Don’t look so sad, mate. I’ve made peace with what I am and where I come from.” 

 

Scorpius isn’t so sure. 

 

*

 

When he turns seventeen he receives an Owl from Teddy. It’s a package of Muggle Johnnys, and Teddy’s familiar scrawl, on stained parchment, reads:  _ Don’t use them all in one go. _ Scorpius chuckles at that, dropping the box of condoms into his trunk. Where they will remain, forgotten, until Scorpius opens his trunk again—in Seventh Year. 

  
  



	2. Albus (Pre-Orion to Pregnant with Orion)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being family isn't always easy; Scorpius and Albus come from families that prove love can't save everything. Though both still hope that love can save them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More outtakes because I had time to edit this up, hope you enjoy my madness. Also, hope all of you are well. <3

  
  


Albus often believes he is the forgotten child. Lily is the one Mum connects with, James is the one Dad pals around with, and Albus is left to his own devices. Something he’s accepted early, honestly, because it does not do to cry over being forgotten. Not when he has Aunt Fleur, Uncle Bill, and their children—especially Dominique. 

 

“Middle child to middle child,” she smiles as she pleats the longer strands of his fringe. “We have to stick together, yeah?” She hums, ever happy as she places glitter into the dark of his hair. His parents are off again—Dad is working long hours at the Ministry. Mum is on holiday with Gran and Lily in Romania, visiting Uncle Charlie at the dragon range. Albus had no desire to go to Romania, he finds the reserve a bore and instead begged to be left at sea. Shell Cottage isn’t far from the holiday home his father bought Mum—a gift that was given in the hopes of forgiveness, for actions Albus has never been privy to—the cottage they rarely visit as a family. So Albus often begs to be left at Uncle Bill’s when given the opportunity. That way he can check on the cottage he hopes to inherit when he’s grown. Lily and James can take the gold, take the home in Godric’s Hollow, take the investments, all Albus wants is the sea. 

 

He comes back to his surroundings, out of his wandering thoughts when Dominique squeals, “You’re just so pretty, Al. I wish I had your eyelashes and your skin.” She kisses the swell of his cheek, then huffs, “I wish you were my little brother. We could always dress you up if you were.” 

 

“Nikki you and Albus come down for dinner,” Aunt Fleur calls up the stairwell. “Victoire is home and the roast is done.” 

 

Dominique pulls a face at the mention of Victoire but doesn’t say anything while she stands—taking Albus by the hand as she so often does, before leading him down the stairs. Dinner smells wonderful, luring Albus to the table with the promise of being tasty. Dominique takes the chair beside him, grinning until Victoire, Louis, and  _ Teddy  _ walk in through the back door. Her eyes go wide, something Albus doesn’t yet understand dulling the blue of them. “What’s he doing here,” Dominique demands, in French, of her sister. 

 

“Eating dinner,” Teddy replies with a perfect accent. To the obvious annoyance of Dominique, who stabs at her roast as if she wishes it were Teddy’s face. “Can a bloke not visit his girlfriend,” he taunts at Dominique, in English now. Albus watches Victoire shoot him an unamused glare, but Teddy’s not paying her any mind. He’s watching Dominique with a saucy grin that makes Albus uncomfortable—like he’s seeing something he shouldn’t be. Something intimate and private. 

 

Uncle Bill, when he gets home, doesn’t seem all that excited to see Teddy dining at his table. It’s been weird since they started dating at the beginning of Albus’s First Year—since then the family has regarded Teddy with less warmth. Something Dad rages about when he’s home and he and Mum have a row. Dad thinks it’s because Victoire is the firstborn grandchild, Mum says it’s because Teddy’s wasted talent, a man-whore, and a person who won’t bring another happiness. “What’re you both up to today?” Uncle Bill enquires as he settles his napkin into his lap. Drawing Albus from his wandering thoughts.

 

“Going to have a walk on the beach,” Teddy shrugs. Not bothered, in the slightest, by Uncle Bill’s frosty tone. “There’s a lovely little alcove not too far from here,” he lifts his grey eyes, holding Uncle Bill’s gaze as he smirks. “It’s a good, quiet place where a couple of people can get to know each other better.” Albus isn’t sure what his tone implies, but whatever it is no one at the table appears pleased. Not even the girlfriend Teddy will be accompanying. 

 

Aunt Fleur is the only one who forces a smile while she murmurs, “How nice, I remember discovering that alcove with your father.” She’s a nostalgic gleam to her eyes. Louis gags, and Albus sits there wondering what’s going on. 

 

*

 

Dominique comes home in tears, that night, soaked with rain and the heavy scent of brine. Albus wakes to find her with her face in her hands, sobbing. He makes a motion to sit up. However, Albus hastily decides against that when Victoire burst in; eyes wild as they fall over her younger sister. 

 

“Go away,” Dominique hisses at her. “I don’t want to look at you right now.” She’s wretched, looking of a drowned cat, “Why?” It’s a plea that Albus doesn’t understand. Dominique beats her fists against the floor, from the doorway Victoire watches her sister with the most tender expression Albus has ever seen her wear. Victoire has never looked at anyone so fondly, and he wonders if his older brother would look at him like that if he were so sad. 

 

“It was just a bit of fun, Nikki—doesn’t mean anything to him or  _ me _ ,” Victoire’s tone is soft, comforting. 

 

Dominique shoves her, “Yeah, well it means something to me.” Albus drifts back to sleep, fighting to keep his eyes open, but for some reason he cannot. The last thing he sees is Victoire waving her fingers at him, in soft rhythmic motions. 

 

*

 

When he goes home, Mum and Dad are having a row about Victoire’s and Teddy’s breakup. One that occurred while Albus was there, or sometime shortly after. “Someone caught him whoring about with a few others,” Mum rages. Accusing as if it is Dad’s fault Teddy is incapable of remaining faithful. “Bill is furious.” 

 

“What do you want me to do about it,” Dad demands. Appearing extremely tired as he removes his glasses to massage his eyes. 

 

“I want you to stop being so damn involved with him,” Mum hisses. “He’s always in trouble with Aurors, he’s got a bar that’s nothing but a cesspool of problems, and he’s fucked around on my niece.” 

 

“I’m his godfather, Gin, I’m not going to abandon him,” Dad is the image of fury. Rage rolls off of him in waves that seem to fill the room with intense, heavy emotions. Ones that make Albus cower in the corner of the room—trying to appear small as possible. James and Lily seem to be trying to do the same. 

 

“Is he more important than my family,” Mum snarls, slamming the kettle down on the hob. 

 

“He’s  _ my family _ ,” is Dad’s passionate response. “Nothing and I mean _nothing_ , will ever change that.” 

 

Albus quietly heads up the stairs after his father’s promise, desperate to be away from them as they continue to spit their disappointments at one another. 

 

*

 

Next time Teddy comes by, to take James flying, Mum is distinctly short with him. He’s got a grim smile on his handsome face when he nods, telling her, “I get it. I’m a shit.” James is upset Mum’s not letting him leave. He pleads while yanking on her shirt’s hem like a toddler, even though he’s an adolescent. Teddy’s grey eyes are full of a sorrow Albus has rarely seen in him when he ruffles James’s dark hair, “ ‘Nother day, mate. Promise.” Though he sounds like he doesn’t mean it. Teddy’s gone with a crack, seconds later Mum and James start having a loud row. 

 

Albus isn’t sure she hears when he tells her he’s going to Floo to Dominique’s. 

 

Albus arrives at a mostly empty house. Uncle Bill is back in Egypt overseeing an excavation, Aunt Fleur is at Delacour. Louis is sat in a chair reading, and he nods at the stairs. “She’s up in her room. Fair warning, mate, she’s in a foul mood.” 

 

Dominique seems despondent when Albus wanders into her bedroom. Pale grey and blue chiffons whisper around her body as the wind ruffles the curtains at her window. Dominique doesn’t seem to notice—her dark blue eyes are watching the sea as it crashes against the shore and she’s singing a sad dirge in soft French. “Nikki,” he whispers, almost fearful, causing her voice to falter as she turns her gaze upon him. 

 

“Albus,” she whimpers, and he rushes her, climbing into her open arms while she pets his wavy hair. “You are my favourite sibling,” she confesses, kissing his hair. “You will never betray me.” 

 

He agrees, unsure of what they are talking about but he’s happy when she seems to perk up at his assurances. Dominique put the stars into the sky as far as Albus is concerned.  

 

“Mummy is down at the fashion house, she wants me to come in and pose.” Her gaze goes back to the sea, “Maybe I should.” 

 

“May I watch,” Albus asks causing her to release a laugh while she pinches his nose. 

 

“Of course.” 

 

*

 

Nikki is nude. Something she’s never before done. Albus blanches, so she chuckles, “I’m eighteen, you tit, calm down.” 

 

“Is there a purpose in being nude?” 

 

Her mirth is obvious in the sound of her bright laugh, “Women want to look like you in whatever you’re wearing, and their partners want them to look like you in whatever you’re wearing.” She pulls on a long dressing gown of the palest pink chiffon, trimmed in a thick white fur. Soon Dominique is winking at Albus with heavily made-up eyes while the photographer calls her over to the prop sofa. Albus has never been attracted to women—his eyes have always followed the boys in his year. Some of the older ones, too. Ravenclaw’s Quidditch Captain is rather fit, and Albus has joined Rosie in trying to catch a glimpse of him in the showers. Despite his preference, he can appreciate the body of a woman. The way he appreciates Dominique’s—she’s the body an Alpha would objectify, one built with wide hips, large breasts, a slim waist that he’s heard Alphas in his year lust after.  _ The kind of body you want to make fat with your seed _ . But she’s confident as she lies on a fainting sofa, her eyes daring one to come near—enticing them to try and tame her. 

 

“Can I pose like that, too,” he asks her when she’s done—brushing the curls of her long, pale hair with a silver-handled brush. She’s in a cotton frock, now, her face clear of the heavy makeup. She’s a refreshing version of herself, no longer a siren selling a glimpse of her sex. 

 

“Nude? You’re fourteen, it’s not legal and your father would shit.” Her voice is full of laughter. 

 

“But...you were so empowered,” Albus whispers. In awe. “I want to be that way, too.” 

 

Dominique’s smile is less happy, rather it’s tinged with a hint of sadness, “Al...” she trails off as if she’s not sure how to continue. What she settles for is, “When you’re older, if you want.” 

 

*

 

“I want to work as a model,” Albus tells his parents when he’s back home. Dad drops his fork in a show of surprise and Mum purses her lips. Both are slightly better reactions than he’d predicted when he thought of asking. 

 

“Why,” she demands—she’s not fond of Aunt Fleur and her “exploitation”. 

 

“I went with Nikki to a shoot and I want to do that, too,” he replies, frowning when neither of his parents seems pleased with his words. 

 

“You’re not going to be on display in that manner—the way Fleur conducts her business she might as well be the one in charge of printing up those tart cards you find in the shadowy corners of the Alley.” Dad, for once, agrees with Albus’s mother. 

 

“People will look at you with inappropriate intentions.” Albus is fifteen, nearly, he knows what his father is referring to. “I don’t think it’s right.” 

 

“They’ll look at me like I’m a breeding mare no matter what,” Albus counters, causing his father to choke on his beer. 

 

“Regardless, I am not giving my consent.” Oh does that rankle, the idea that he is property to his Alpha father. 

 

“Because I’m your possession now? Is that it,” Albus hisses, full of venom. “You think I’m going to turn into a little slut because I show a bit of skin?” His eyes narrow, “I’m not looking to get fucked full of a brat, Dad and I’m not being a tart, Mum—not that it’d be anyone else’s business if I were out there hopping on every knot in creation.” 

 

“Albus Severus,” Dad thunders while Mum stares at him in obvious shock. 

 

“What,” Albus demands, “I don’t see you putting your fucking rules on Lily and James—you hardly give them shit for anything they do. James got caught with his cock down some skirt’s throat and you gave him a chortle and a pat on the fucking back.” Dad cannot deny it, and Mum glances away ashamed. Albus swallows, hurt, “You both treat me like an eternal child because I’m the one who can get pregnant. Like it’s my fault I was born a fucking Omega.”   
  


“That’s not it—” Dad tries, but Albus cuts him off. 

 

“Isn’t it, though? Isn’t it because I’m the fertile bitch?” Oh, how he loves to say those things with all the hate he can muster. 

 

“Albus please—” 

 

“Fine,” he hisses, “Deny me the one thing I’ve asked for.” 

 

He sees the defeat, Dad and Mum concede. 

 

*

 

Of course, when he’s fifteen, topless and covered in rose petals Dad has a fucking fit. “You’re catering to perverts—I had one in interrogation today I near beat to death because he started talking about debasing my child.” This he doesn’t say directly to Albus—more like he’s muttering to himself, “If Borne hadn’t been with me I might’ve killed him.” 

 

“I can’t help if perverts toss off to me, Dad, besides I’m never alone it’s not like any of them will actually cart me away to a sex dungeon.” Albus’s voice is playful as he speaks. 

 

“Don’t joke like that,” Mum commands, tone hard. “The world is a scarier place than you realise.” 

 

He doesn’t argue after that. 

 

*

 

The first bloke Albus sucks off is his brother’s best mate—Theodore Givens—and he’s kind of disappointed with the way he tastes. It’s bitter. Theodore's too sweaty causing Albus to be more than a little disappointed because Dominique has always made it sound like sucking cock is a delicious treat. 

 

“Fuck, yes,” Theodore hisses, winding his hands in Albus’s hair. That makes his cock interested, the power and commanding pull of those long fingers. “Fuck, I want to come in you.” Albus assumes he means down his throat, but Theodore pulls his cock out of Albus’s throat. Demanding that he bend over. 

 

“No thanks,” Albus inches away from him, annoyed and fearful with this turn of events. His fear spikes when Theodore grabs him by his thin shoulders and starts shoving him to the ground. 

 

“You’re a little bitch, and little bitches like getting knotted,” Theodore chuckles, causing Albus to yelp and try to pull away. Quidditch players are more muscular than Albus who does nothing that would be helpful to building muscle. 

 

“No,” he shouts, trying to scramble away. Theodore isn’t letting go. Albus begins to cry and the bastard laughs at his distress, saying how he loves it when they cry. 

 

Blessedly, James busts into the room. A dark look coming over his face when he sees his brother beneath a bloke, tears in his eyes. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

 

“Having a bit of a laugh,” Theodore murmurs as he moves easily to his feet. “Wasn’t I, Al?”

 

“Don’t call him that,” James’s tone is harsh. It would terrify Albus if it were directed at him, but he finds comfort in the sound. 

 

“James, mate—” he slaps Theodore’s hand away from him, as it goes to clap him on the shoulder. 

 

“We’re not mates,” James invades his space, dangerous intent in every motion of his body and voice, “I’m not the kind of bloke who is okay with his mates trying to rape his little brother.” 

 

“Hey, that’s not what—”

 

“You’re lucky my dad is here,” James hisses, “Because if he wasn’t I’d cut your fucking cock off and shove it so far up your arse it’d come out your throat.” Then, as an added afterthought, he sneers, “Or maybe I should fetch my dad, tell him what you’re trying to do and watch him do it instead.” That makes Theodore appear extremely ill at ease. “Fuck off,  _ mate _ , before I stop being nice.” 

 

James hugs Albus, allowing him to sob on his shoulder—never reprimanding him, just comforting him in silence. 

 

*

 

Albus has a thing about blokes touching him after Theodore. He’s horrified to admit that he’s scared all of them will try to push him into what he doesn’t want to do. So he takes to fantasising about blokes, takes to watching pornographic pensieves, and is content to pretend he’s far more experienced than he is in reality. Scorpius is a bloke that Albus is fascinated by. He’s quiet, bookish, and a bit of a mystery. Albus has seen him stripped down for physical education—it was an attempt by one of Albus’s yearmate’s to embarrass Scorpius. It backfired, embarrassing the other bloke instead. Scorpius was fit. Built like a Seeker, tall, slender, with definition clear beneath his pale skin. He tossed his shirt aside, silent, and picked up his broom. 

 

“Malfoy, you play Keeper,” Marcus sneered. “And you can put your fucking shirt back on.” 

 

“Thought we were playing skins vs shirts,” Malfoy murmured, not accusing but it sparked a defensiveness in Marcus. 

 

“Well, no one wants to look at a naked scumbag like you,” Marcus bit. “Can’t believe they allow children of Death Eaters in school.” 

 

Scorpius didn’t say anything, but every Quaffle he kept out of the posts he was sure to kick at Marcus’s head. Albus snickered every time, and since it has developed into a fascination. 

 

Tonight, even, as he lies beneath his duvet Albus touches himself to the thought of Scorpius. 

 

*

 

Dominique is the one who takes him to parties, parties where they dance to throbbing bass lines and drink expensive liquor that is foul at first. In time Albus learns to enjoy the taste.

 

She’s a few blokes she sleeps with, ones that seem to always show up when they are out. Trying for Dominique’s attention—though she never gives them any while she’s with her darling little cousin.

 

“Which one is your boyfriend,” Albus asks, drunkenly when they go back to her flat. 

 

“None of them,” she replies while she rolls a spliff for them to share. “I don’t do boyfriends. I also don’t do girlfriends,” she adds as an afterthought. “I keep it casual. Can’t hurt if it’s not serious,” Albus frowns, he wonders if that’s true. He thinks about his parents—their relationship is awful, really. It’s serious and hurts. Gran and Granddad are hardly any better. Only they never shout—content to just ignore one another. Hermione and Ron are civil, but Rosie has admitted that her mum stays away, working long hours at the office while Uncle Ron stays home and minds them. So how can there be problems if they are never together? Uncle Percy’s wife left him recently. Because he’s an intolerable pillock. Uncle George married dead Uncle Fred’s sweetheart and Albus cannot imagine being with the twin of a man he loved. Out of all of his uncles, Bill seems to be the only one not living a miserable, married life. Uncle Charlie, from what he’s heard doesn’t do relationships at all. 

 

Perhaps Albus should never find someone to attach himself to, it seems safer. 

 

*

 

He’s just turned sixteen when he discovers his aunt and uncle having a snog in a secluded area of the studio. They’re rather wrapped up in one another and don’t take notice of Albus as he stands there, gaping. 

 

Uncle Bill’s got his hands buried in Aunt Fleur’s hair, devouring her mouth as her hands work to open his belt. “I missed you,” he husks, and she whispers devotions in French. 

 

He’s about to step away, as quietly as he can when his uncle’s shirt gets rucked up and there it is—a  _ bond mark _ , low on his stomach. Close to the ginger hair that curves around his cock. 

 

A shock washes over Albus, and he hurries away, his heart hammering beneath his ribcage. 

 

A bond mark. On a  _ Weasley _ . His family rages against marks of possession—likening it to Voldemort’s mark of possession. Demonising bonds. But there one rests, and if Uncle Bill has one Aunt Fleur certainly has one to match. 

 

*

 

It’s a rare day Albus spends at The Burrow, watching Gran as she putters about the kitchen—making a Sunday roast for the family who will stop by. Mum is off with Lily, touring for another musical competition. Dad is working, as is usual. James, in a fit of boredom, begged Albus to come with him to their grandparents. “My last year at school is coming soon,” James reminded. “Spend my last summer of freedom with me.” Which is code for  _ I haven’t got a skirt to entertain me, you’ll do.  _ Albus doesn’t have much to do. Not yet, anyway, Aunt Fleur is in Milan, for work, and he doesn’t normally travel for work. Albus doesn’t enjoy runways, he’ll walk if he must but she never pushes. Victoire is the one who dominates in that area. She was born to captivate with her confidence. She could sell a bunch of tossers a plastic sack and they’d have to have it because of how she looks in it. Dominique is much the same. Much as she hates to admit, she and her sister were born to captivate the world, Dominique just prefers not to prance before audiences. The only time she will is if it’s lingerie because she enjoys showing off her body. 

 

Gran interrupts his bored train of thought, “Al, darling, come help me with the rolls.” 

 

He’s not much for cooking, but Gran smiles encouragingly as he starts mixing ingredients—kneading when they are all blended. “That’s the way, love,” she murmurs, happy to have his help. Gran favours him, he thinks, sometimes, and he’s often wondered why. “You’ve got the touch for baking, your poor mum hasn’t, bless her.” She chatters away at him, and Albus nods when necessary, adding a comment or hum of acknowledgement when needed. He loves his gran, truly, but she’s a knack for comparing him to his mum and he doesn’t see it. Often Albus believes he’s the child his mum wish she hadn’t had. Though he never voices that opinion. 

 

“You’ll make a wonderful wife,” she praises and Albus feels sick—wondering if that’s all he will ever be useful for. Marrying and making fat with babies, it’s a depressing thought. 

 

*

 

He tries to date. Something that is James’s suggestion, and allows his brother to set him up with one of his sport obsessed mates. They go to Teddy's club, where it’s loud and they can dance. Not that Grayson is a decent dancer, but Albus pretends to be charmed. Scorpius Malfoy playing the guitar catches his eye, and Albus pauses to watch as his long fingers dance up the neck of his fretboard—a precise caress that makes Albus shiver. He feels warmer when Scorpius sings with the lead singer, lending his stunning vocal cords to the heavily pierced man beside him. Enchanting. 

 

Grayson is still jumping around with the other patrons while James is at the bar getting pissed and feeling up the skirt of his date. She’s shrieking in delight. Albus pays them no mind, however, when Scorpius climbs off the stage—sweaty and grinning as an older bloke launches himself at Scorpius. He’s slim with skin the colour of dark chocolate and has beautiful honey eyes that are trained on Scorpius. Malfoy, in turn, has his grey eyes trained on this man—a slow wicked grin turning up the corners of his pale pink lips. 

 

Albus’s eyes grow wide when he sees the other man grip the front of Scorpius’s trousers, stroking his hardening cock through the tight denim material. “Mmmm, someone needs tending to,” this man purrs, loud enough for Albus to hear. Scorpius gladly follows when the other man leads him from the crowd. 

 

Ever curious Albus sneaks after them, hanging back when he sees them in a narrow, dark alcove. The man he doesn’t know on his knees before Scorpius—pulling sounds from Scorpius’s throat that go straight to Albus’s cock. “Fuck, Brody,” Scorpius praises, digging his fingers into Brody’s colourful dreads. “You keep doing that and I’m gonna come.” 

 

Brody pulls off Scorpius’s impressive cock with a wet sound that does things to Albus’s libido. “I love when you come down my throat, baby.” 

 

And that’s all the permission Scorpius needs before he’s fucking Brody’s mouth in earnest—whispering filth in a mix of Italian, English, and French. 

 

Later that night, when Albus has Grayson’s cock at the mercy of his mouth he closes his eyes—fisting himself off to the memory of Scorpius’s flushed face as he came. 

 

*

 

Albus straddles a unicorn, naked as the day he was born, covered in a luminous silver highlight. He runs long fingers through his hair, arching and running his tongue across his teeth. Dad will have another fit, Albus is sure—Mum will most likely sigh in a resigned fashion. As she’s been doing more and more lately when it comes to Albus’s fashion adventures. As long as he’s not caught doing something unsavoury by the papers his mother could give a shit. 

 

*

 

The thing that calms dad’s rage about Albus’s nude shoot is Teddy nearly beating a bloke to death. Apparently, there was some douche trying to force himself on an Omega in heat, in the loo, and Teddy didn’t take kindly to such shenanigans. 

 

Albus doesn’t pay attention to the row Mum and Dad share at this latest Teddy issue. There’ve been so many rows Albus has grown accustomed to drowning them out. 

 

He doesn’t really care about anything Teddy related until Dominique gives him a wicked grin, a week later, and says, “Teddy’s going to be my indentured servant for the next week or two, and he’s bringing his darling cousin along.” 

 

“Malfoy?” The name rolling off his tongue causes his heart rate to spike. 

 

“Oh yes, wickedly good looking, that one—wonder what Teddy would do if I fucked him,” she muses causing Albus’s stomach to drop. 

 

“What,” he asks, casual as he can manage. 

 

“You know, I just love tormenting Lupin. What better way than playing a bit with his cousin?”

 

“Can I come help?” As is usual, Dominique doesn’t deny him. Filling Albus with a sense of guilt that he’s only going to deny her the fun she might have with Scorpius. 

 

*

 

Lily scoffs at him when they get home, after the first day in Dominique’s shop, “The only way you could’ve been more obvious is if you’d have bent over naked and said  _ come fuck me _ .” 

 

“Shut up,” he rolls his eyes, huffing out an awkward laugh. 

 

“Pretty sure, Malfoy would gladly fuck you.” Lily flops onto his bed, rolling her eyes up at him. 

 

“Yeah?” Albus sounds entirely too hopeful, even to himself. 

 

She snorts, “Yeah, If that’s what you want I’m willing to bet he is game.” 

 

*

 

Scorpius is so game. He and Albus fuck constantly. 

 

“Like that,” Scorpius husks against his throat, gripping Albus’s bony hips while Albus rocks himself over Scorpius’s lap. They are on an expensive looking chaise sofa—one that’s in a bedroom Albus is half certain is Scorpius’s dad’s. However, he’s not interested in asking about the owner of the room. Not when Scorpius whines against him and comes. “Fuck.” 

 

He flops back, dark pink flushing across his chest, neck and cheeks. Scorpius lifts his head with a sated grin, as long fingers wrap around Albus’s hard cock, “Let me take care of that for you, love.” Albus’s breath comes in short, desperate gasps and he grips his fingers into Scorpius’s shoulders—leaving little impressions of his nails behind. “Come for me, Alb,” Scorpius whispers against his mouth. Tongue darting out to taste Albus’s whine when he comes between them. “Delicious,” Scorpius praises, kissing his sweat-slick neck before lifting sticky fingers to his mouth to taste Albus’s orgasm. 

 

*

 

He often leaves deep, branding bruises in Scorpius’s pale skin. Ones he sucks into the dip between his cock and thigh—boldly declaring he’s been there. He’s tamed this territory. Because Albus really fucking likes Scorpius. Likes him so much he wants to spend every second of each day with him. Which is new and frightening and even more terrifying when he thinks about how there have to be others. There’s no way he’s the only one Scorpius is pinning against walls. No way he can be the only one satisfying all of Scorpius’s lusts. And that makes him jealous. As he has never before been. Albus doesn’t get jealous, not of his siblings, not of others who hung off guys he casually dated. But Scorpius, Scorpius brings out a terrifying possessiveness in him. One that makes him want to be the best Scorpius has ever known so that he will never tire of him. 

 

He pushes his baser instincts to the forefront of himself, debasing himself willingly in ways Scorpius has never asked—ways Albus would rage against if his lover were anyone else. 

 

“Alpha,” he pants with wet eyes. Grinding onto Scorpius’s knot, trying to take him deeper still. “Alpha,” he mewls as if he’s hungry for every drop of Alpha that he feels flood into him. 

 

“Jesus,” Scorpius whispers against the back of his neck, ragged breath cooling the hair at Albus’s nape. “You’re so...fuck, I didn’t know people could be this addicting.” He kisses and sucks at Albus’s salty skin, humming in pleasure when Albus tenses around his knot. Trying all be can to make Scorpius come again. “My cock will fall off if we keep going,” Scorpius jokes. Albus wants it to—he would love Scorpius even if he were cockless. 

 

Mark me, Albus thinks while Scorpius kneads the tense muscles of Albus’s lower back.  _ Make me yours forever _ . 

 

*

 

The bond mark stings for weeks and makes him ache for Scorpius’s presence. He misses his laugh, his scent, his warmth, but Scorpius deserves more than Albus and Albus wants more than what his grandmother is. He doesn’t want to be a kept prince, locked away in a gilded tower. What if there is someone else out there—someone he will love more. They aren’t in love. They are young and too stupid. 

 

Returning to school is the most exhausting. Seeing Scorpius, watching him go through Head Boy duties without the slightest of glances in Albus’s direction is difficult. It’s hard to see that he didn’t brand Scorpius as deeply as Scorpius has branded him. 

 

It hurts more when he starts sicking up into smelly u-bends, and he  _ knows _ —knows before he faints in potions...knows before the school’s Healer watches him with pitying eyes. 

 

He knew the moment it happened—if he’s being honest. There was a sensation, hardly a shiver of a feeling that he thought was the aftershocks of an orgasm. Now he knows what that spark was. It was them, pieces of them fusing together to make a life. A life Albus willed into existence, wanting to bind Scorpius further. A sob escapes him, and he hates himself more for what he’s done. 

 

*

 

The sea is loud beyond the cottage. Albus watches the dark waters as they lick the sandy beach, ice trying to cling to the ground but the tide sucks it back in. A flutter tickles his abdomen, drawing his gaze down to the growing bump of his child. “Think that’s fun, do you?” He’s long since given up pretending this isn’t happening. The house is lonely, Albus lives in these walls with no others. Mum can hardly stand to look at him when he’s here and Dad, per usual, has thrown himself into work as a way to escape. So all he has is himself and this thing inside him. A wretched child who will be born into a broken family. Another flutter. “I wish I knew what to do.” 

 

He doesn’t want to tell Scorpius, and last Dad was here they’d a row about that. Dad believes all parents should be present in a child’s life. That’s the orphan in him. Albus can’t tell his dad he’s too selfish to have Scorpius near Albus but have none of him. He’s also afraid to be put into a home where he’s forced to play bored housewife, mother, convenient lover. Albus is afraid of the magic wearing off. He’s terrified of living for something less than real. 

 

“It will be you and me,” Albus murmurs as he settles into a chair, hands carefully going to the curve of his growing child. “I guess. You poor little beast.” He gets another roll of movement for his words, making him smile. 

After that the child grows more active; fluttering in the night, waking an already restless Albus. Insomnia is a real problem during pregnancy Albus has learnt. He stands before the long mirror in his room, removing his baggy shirt—standing before it in just his pants. He’s always been slight, and now he’s changing. His belly extends, forcing the elastic of his pants to expand to the point of losing the integrity of the word  _ Delacour.  _ Even still he loves the way he looks. Odd as that seems, Albus finds the curve of his stomach both beautiful and erotic. He tickles his fingertips over the faint ripple he catches sight of beneath olive skin, wondering what Scorpius would do if he were here with them. 

 

“He would love you,” Albus informs his moving child. “He would sing to you in a number of tongues. Because that’s what he does,” he sighs, massaging at his aching hips. 

Albus wanders into the kitchen, for a snack, startling when his dad comes in from the Floo. 

 

“I talked to Malfoy,” with those words the illusion of safe shatters. Instinctively, Albus wraps his thin arms around his abdomen. Trying to shield this life from the horrors of the world. 

 

*

 

Scorpius doesn’t want him, just the child and his fingers dance over the curve of his skin where their baby twirls. “Your Daddy will be good to you,” Albus confides. Sorrow choking him as he speaks these words. “He’s going to make your world magical.” Albus’s tears fall hot against the cool skin of his naked stomach. “You need him more than you need me.” 

 

He sings a quiet lullaby, rubbing his skin in a soothing rhythm. Hoping and knowing that he’s made the right decision. 

 

_ Scorpius is the good one, capable, he is the one our child needs.  _

 

*

 

Mum comes to sit with him a week or more after the child has gone. The one his swollen tits ache for, the one who haunts his dreams with phantom cries—Albus feels the baby’s movements still, beneath his skin, waiting ever impatient for Albus to sing. 

 

It is one of the rare days Albus has spent alone with his mother. There is no buffer of James, Lily nor Dad to ease the awkward between them. There is no one here to help remind Albus to play his part, to kill off his feelings. 

 

So they come, a well of emotions pouring out his throat and eyes. “I want him so much, Mummy.” Albus wails for Scorpius, “I want him more than I want anything.” 

 

Her blue eyes are full of pain for him as her arms encircle his slender shoulders—Mum kisses his hair, as he can recall her doing in early childhood. He remembers more of her affections now, as she holds him, and he feels more of a shit for thinking her cold. “My darling,” she murmurs, voice thick with emotion, “What can I do to help? Say it and I will make it so.” 

 

Albus watches her in earnest. Thinking of how she, too, knew a man in youth. She too was enraptured, pulled in the current of passion. Albus knows how it’s ruined her. Her love for his father long cold—only obligation and their children keeping them bound. He remembers Gran and the way she watches Granddad with resentment. She’s never seen the world in the way she always wanted. He kept putting children in her—children she surely loves—children who kept her too occupied to bask in her youth. Gran was old before her time, made so by love. 

 

He cannot be another disappointing love. He’d rather Scorpius hate him forever than their passion grow cold—wilting beneath the darkness of duty. He wants Scorpius’s memory to remain untainted. Albus wants him to be nothing less than the perfection he’s known for these last months. 

 

“Make me forget, Mummy,” Albus begs. “Make me not love him. I don’t want to run back to him, settle down, and wake miserable twenty years from now. I don’t ever want to look at him the way you look at Dad.” 

 

She pets his hair, drawing him closer—holding him so tight he can feel how precious Albus is to her. “If that is what you truly want, I _will_ make you forget.” 

 

“Do it, please.” 


End file.
